


The Dragon Queen and the Blacksmith's Daughter

by Neige18



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Everyone Needs A Hug, Extremely Underage, F/F, F/M, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Major Original Character(s), Mercy Killing, Non-Canon Relationship, Post-Season/Series 08 AU, Queen Daenerys, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neige18/pseuds/Neige18
Summary: Four months after the Battle of King's Landing, Daenerys goes undercover to monitor the city's reconstruction. Up close and personal with the devastation she's caused, she finds it increasingly hard to rationalize her actions as her conscience begins to break through. The blacksmith's orphaned daughter is a living reminder of the evil she'd done - her thin slice of happiness and her punishment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're uncomfortable with Daenerys being paired with a 13 year old girl, please refrain from reading. Although...this is GoT we're talking about here, so all moral laws pretty much go out the window. Let's all just agree that Dany got done dirty in Season 8 and deserves some happiness, shall we? 
> 
> Missandei is alive, but Jorah is still dead.

Daenerys had initially chafed at the idea.

"Your Grace, it would be the best way to oversee repairs and gauge public opinion," the Maester reasoned.

“I could do that without going undercover,” Daenerys replied, blinking hard against the strain in her eyes that had begun spreading deeper into her head. This morning’s meeting had gone on longer than usual due to a small farmer strike at King’s Landing on top of a trade dispute between the Iron Islands and the North. “And I already know exactly what the smallfolk think of me. The farmers have made that exceptionally clear this past week,” she continued in deadpan.

“True,” conceded the Maester, “but you will gain a different perspective if you make the rounds as one of them versus as their queen.”

“The Maester is right,” said Missandei, standing to Daenerys’ right as all three of them stood on the balcony, surveying the still-ruined city of King’s Landing. “The reports you receive are accurate, but they can be…shall I say…censored. The lords and soldiers only report the most pressing matters, but not the heart of them – the people. I’ve been making the rounds myself. They feel disenfranchised. They don’t feel they have a voice in the running of their own city. They don’t think the Red Keep understands anything about their needs. Everyone would be on their best behavior if their queen makes an appearance, but you’d get the complete picture if they thought you one of them.”

Daenerys was silent for a few moments, amethyst eyes distant in thought. “You’re right,” she finally stated, straightening from where she’d been leaning over the railing. “We can all agree that King’s Landing has been lawless as of late, and there are no better eyes and ears than my own. Though – “

She laid her hands on the shoulders of her closest advisers, offering them a smile warm with gratitude. “I greatly appreciate your help. Without your diligence, this task would be almost impossibly challenging.”

“We live to serve Your Grace,” replied the Maester with a respectful nod. Missandei laid an affectionate hand on Daenerys’ arm.

“I shall leave right away.” Daenerys turned from the balcony. “I’m in need of a walk, anyways.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Daenerys was almost unrecognizable as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms in a plain brown dress and hood covering her platinum hair, which had been pulled back in a bun so that only a few strands showed through, framing her face. The guards offered to accompany her, but she declined, even when they suggested going undercover. Not the safest choice, Daenerys admitted to herself, but if she were to be a commoner, she wanted the full experience. Besides, she was looking forward to the rest of the day alone – free to roam as she pleased, unencumbered by her duties, by the false niceties of nobles and servants just trying to garner favor.

She set off on horseback with one of the stable boys, then dismounted a few yards from the Mud Gate - which led out to the docks - and told the boy to return in four hours. Since King’s Landing was so large, Daenerys decided to span her visits over several days. She’d start with the worst-damaged parts and work her way from there. The docks were forefront in her mind, as that was where the attack had begun. _Not the wisest choice,_ she grudgingly admitted. She _had_ wiped out a fleet of soldiers…along with nearly all the fishing vessels, with the result that the economy had crashed. But then again, she’d had no reason to think so far ahead.

 _You didn’t think at all,_ hissed a traitorous voice in her head, which she abruptly silenced.

It’d been a success, hadn’t it? A victory cemented by force. The people of this gods-forsaken city had learned what happened to those who betrayed her. Word had spread to all reaches of the Seven Kingdoms, with the result that none dared challenge her. And now she could restructure the city, leaving it more efficient and prosperous.

Daenerys spent longer than expected at the docks, mingling among the soldiers and fishermen. She unobtrusively asked questions about their affairs and took inventory of everything they told her as well as what she observed with her own eyes. To diffuse suspicion, she claimed to be a visitor who’d come to support her family who lived in the Street of Steel.

“I wanted to see the destruction for myself,” Daenerys said with feigned innocence. “See what I could do to help.”

One of the fishermen sneered. “Well you won’t do much good here.”

Others were more obliging. The fishermen were mostly working out of flimsy rafts, since most of the wood went to building warships instead of fishing boats. There was also a lack of soldiers on the waterfront. Daenerys made a mental note to address both concerns.

“Rebuild – bah!” One of the fishermen spat on the ground, the glob landing too close to Daenerys for comfort. She flinched and resisted the urge to scowl. “So that’s the word the Targaryen whore is using. Lemme ask you this. Can she rebuild our families? Can she rebuild the hearts of all the wives and mothers who couldn’t even give their husbands and sons a proper burial because there was nothing left of ‘em but ash and bits of bone?” He took a giant swig from a flask, sloppily running a sleeve across his mouth.

“Aye,” agreed his much younger companion, his eyes flashing with the deepest malice. He jabbed a finger in the air. “If I ever get my hands on that bitch, I’d mimic the Boltons and flay her alive.”

Inside her sleeves, Daenerys clenched her fists so tightly she nearly drew blood. It was all she could do to keep from lunging at the men and cutting their throats with the concealed dagger in her dress. She could order them executed when she returned to the Red Keep. But…unnecessary. “Indeed, everyone has strong feelings about her,” she said with a nod, letting not a trace of rage show through her cool mask.

“Ain’t that the understatement of the century,” snorted a woman a few yards away, who was unloading a crate with the day’s catch alongside a man whom Daenerys guessed was her husband. “Most of us would just as soon see her dead than serve her, but we’d all rather keep our lives!”

“Did you lose anyone?” Daenerys asked the fishermen, the worthless question impulsively slipping out. Something about the raw way he’d described his hatred for her had caught her attention, despite the insults.

“My two sons and daughter were burned alive. Only my wife and I survived. She couldn’t cope. Hung herself a few days later.” The older man took another swig of drink, and Daenerys noticed the crimson flush on his face, his unfocused stare. “I would’ve followed her had I not this lad and his family to look after. Five mouths to feed and their father’s dead.”

“Uncle, don’t say such things,” the young man responded gently, laying a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. He pried the flask from the older man’s fingers. “You’ve had enough.”

Daenerys swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” she forced out.

“Don’t be,” the man responded darkly. “Ain’t you who should be sorry.” With that, he lumbered off, his nephew close by.

Daenerys stood alone, watching them retreat.

 _Have you been down there? Have you seen children –_ little _children – burnt?!_

Daenerys felt a sickening fist close around her throat, her stomach.

_No._

_It was necessary._

She’d felt nothing then, standing before Jon Snow.

Why now? Why –?

Daenerys grit her teeth. No, she could not afford to be maudlin. Could not hide behind small mercies. A soft ruler was a dead one.

She walked back through the Mud Gate, entering Fishmonger's Square where the largest shelter for displaced citizens was located. The rest were set up at strategic points throughout the city. The city's telltale stench, intensified by thousands of crowded, unwashed bodies, wafted effortlessly toward where she stood at the edge of the camp. She was just about the enter the fray when a commotion to her right, where the Square intersected River Row, caught her attention. 

“Demelza, it was just a minor scuffle! DEMELZA, CALM DOWN!”

Daenerys hastened across the Square, hand instinctively going to her concealed dagger. Passersby were slowing or downright stopping to stare at the party of three in the middle of the street. A boy who looked not yet twenty had his arms like a straitjacket around a thrashing tangle of clothes and limbs. As Daenerys drew closer, she saw that it was a young girl. Only the piercing, incoherent shrieks sounded more animal than human.

The elderly man in the group threw up his hands in desperation. “This is out of hand! If you can’t keep her under control, we’ll have to send her away!”

The boy glared up, straining with effort. “And who’d you think would want to take a half-mad wildchild, uh? Not even the brothels would have her!” he snapped, struggling to keep his hold upon the girl, who was now trying to tear out locks of her long hair.

Daenerys approached. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked in alarm.

“Two men came to blows in the street. A minor disagreement - it was quickly settled,” the elderly man explained over the girl’s yells. “Enough to set her off, though.” His eyes darkened. “Went tearing down the street and flew into a fit when Colborn finally managed to catch her. The clashing of swords reminded her of the attack.”

Daenerys felt the traitorous fist clench around her stomach again. And despite the sun, her body suddenly chilled as though the warmth had leeched from her blood. She’d never considered –

 _No._ Remorse never helped anyone.

“Let her go,” Daenerys instructed the boy, Colborn.

He threw her a baffled look. “But she – “

“Do it. You’re making her worse by constraining her.”

Reluctantly, the boy relinquished his hold and the girl slid to the floor. Her body convulsed with gasping sobs. As though she couldn’t draw breath. As though the ash from the attack still choked her lungs.

Daenerys knelt beside the girl – Demelza, the boy had called her. “Demelza?” Daenerys said in a low, even tone, the type she’d use with an agitated dragon. She instinctively reached out to touch the girl, but quickly withdrew when she yelped and recoiled like a beaten puppy. “It’s alright. You’re safe. It was just a minor scuffle. No one was injured.”

She could’ve been lying for all she knew. She hadn’t asked if anyone had been harmed. But it didn’t matter so long as it was effective. The girl looked up, dark eyes bloodshot through a curtain of scraggly reddish-brown hair, face streaked with tears.

“Try to breath. Deep breaths,” Daenerys instructed. “You’ll make yourself ill if you carry on like this.” Her tone was firm but not harsh.

The girl attempted to comply, drawing in ragged breaths. When she raised her head again, she seemed to look straight through Daenerys, her gaze still lost in the memory of fire and thick black smoke – a war that ended four months ago but would never cease in her heart.

“I couldn’t help them.” Her voice came out in a croak, barely loud enough for the queen to hear.

A pang shot through Daenerys with the abruptness and might of a poisoned arrow.

She stood. “Well,” she addressed the boy and the elderly man, their brows still furrowed in concern, “she’s calmer now. Get her some water. Don’t make sudden movements, don’t corner or restrain her.”

Before they could respond, she politely excused herself and hurried around the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

Daenerys shared her report at a meeting of city officials the next day and made sure they took action, but otherwise remained tight-lipped about what she’d experienced. Sensing a shift in the energy of her queen and closest friend, Missandei tried a couple of times to wheedle information out of her. But all Daenerys would say was that things were worse than she’d been led to believe.

“Actually, the blame lays squarely on me,” she’d stated grimly over a private breakfast in her chambers with Missandei. “I haven’t bothered delving into the affairs of the city.” Then she switched the subject. Missandei suspected what Daenerys was feeling but didn’t press. Her actions that day had been hers alone, and Daenerys would have to come to terms with them herself, in her own time. As for her own opinions, Missandei wasn’t without a few that she wouldn’t admit aloud.

For the next two days, Daenerys continued visiting the city. Each time, the reality of what she’d done sunk deeper and deeper – a serrated, poison-dipped peg into the dirt of her conscience. Yes, the fools in positions of influence who’d allowed themselves to be ruled by a tyrant couldn’t have expected any less. But what of the innocent men, women, and children who’d had no say in the matter? Had she expected them to take up hammers and brooms to lead a rebellion? Even if they’d organized themselves into an army, it wouldn’t have been nearly enough to overcome the Lannister forces.

But Daenerys kept those thoughts firmly in check and forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand. What’s done was done. It made no difference how she or anyone else felt about it.

On her third visit, Daenerys set aside the whole day to inspect the shelters, leaving the Maester, Missandei, and Gray Worm in charge. She returned to Fishmonger's Square for her first stop. She'd never gotten a chance to examine the camp properly. On the first day, she'd been sidetracked by the hysterical young girl, after which she'd spent the rest of the day along River Row and the surrounding shops, homes, and market stalls. She'd spent her second day in the city at Flea Bottom, taking inventory of the damage done to the slums and the concerns of its inhabitants. 

At Fishmonger's Square, an array of tents had been pitched haphazardly amidst the ruined buildings. The location was ideal not only for the space, but also for the water pump in the middle of the Square. The place was crowded past capacity, and Daenerys meandered slowly around tents, playing children, and soldiers. Most of the families had set up makeshift cooking stations outside their tents. Along with smoke wafting up from multiple small fires, the stench of unwashed bodies and feces pervaded the air. Daenerys gagged and resisted the urge to cover her nose with her sleeve, her eyes watering.

The soldiers were currently handing out the day’s rations. Daenerys made her way into the center of the camp, then back to the outer edge, familiarizing herself with its size. She observed children playing hide-and-seek amidst the debris of crumbled buildings.

“Oh no you don’t! Beat it before I stick you!”

Daenerys whirled around to see two raggedy boys in their late teens rush off into a ruined building. Her eyes immediately landed on the source of their flight – a young girl who stood a couple of yards from her, sheathing the knife she’d been brandishing and tucking it into the folds of her dress. She turned to Daenerys, the latter’s stunned brain just beginning to register what had transpired.

“You might as well have a target on your back, wandering around like that without your wits about you,” the girl said with a wry smile, brushing back a lock of reddish-brown hair from her face. “I’d give you five minutes before others show up and relieve you of all your worldly possessions.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened in recognition. “Demelza?”

The girl’s smile slipped off. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Who are you?” she demanded, cocking her head.

“I’m Dany,” answered Daenerys, the thought of using her real name not even crossing her mind. “We…well, we never officially met a few days ago, but you seemed in need of assistance. I heard your brother call you by name.” She tried to phrase it as politely as possible, not wanting to embarrass the girl.

A slightly flush colored Demelza’s pale, sunken cheeks. “Ah. Right, I remember,” she mumbled. She walked up to Daenerys, almost shyly, and offered her hand. “A pleasure, Miss Dany. And thank you. I was rather…well, I wasn’t in my right mind. Sorry you got caught up in it.” She self-consciously scratched at her right arm, staring down at the floor. She seemed to shrink in on herself, a stark contrast to the bold young girl who’d defended Daenerys just moments before.

Daenerys gently lifted the girl’s chin, soft amethyst eyes meeting wary brown ones. “Please, just Dany will do. You have nothing to apologize for or be ashamed about. And I should be the one thanking you. Those boys would’ve been disappointed, though. I’m not carrying any valuables. They would’ve found themselves on the business end of my dagger instead, but you’ve spared me the effort.”

A shared smile of cynical amusement passed between the two. “Well, they don’t know that,” responded Demelza. “You look cleaner than the rest of us and your dress is made of finer material, so you’re an ideal target.”

She regarded the silver-haired woman curiously. “You’re not from here.” It was a statement, not a question.

Of course, thought Daenerys, her demeanor betrayed her, not to mention her accent. Her blending-in skills really needed improvement.

“No, I’m from Essos.” Sometimes the truth worked as the best cover.

A corner of Demelza’s mouth quirked up, but it was not a friendly smile. “Ahhh. You’re from the birthplace of the Targaryen wench. I don’t expect they treat you nicely here.”

Daenerys’s jaw tightened. She knew the citizens of King’s Landing despised her, not that she expected any different. She’d had more than her fair share of things far more horrendous than petty insults, anyways. So long as the smallfolk knew their place, she didn’t much care what they thought of her. Yet the fact that they openly spoke such vulgarities against their queen was infuriating and unacceptable. She’d have to remedy that. But not here. Not now.

“No, they don’t,” Daenerys answered, letting her bitterness work in her favor. “You hate her,” she stated, amethyst eyes searching Demelza’s bitter features.

“Hate her? _Hate_ her?” Demelza’s brown eyes seared with dragonfire and her fists clenched at her sides.

On instinct, Daenerys found herself taking a cautious half-step back. She saw now why Colborn had called her a ‘half-mad wildchild.’ Demelza didn’t just look furious, she looked vicious – an animal that could turn on you in a second and tear your throat out.

She swept her arm out in a wide arc, indicating the destruction surrounding them. “Is this not proof enough for you? She calls herself the liberator but she’s more a tyrant than the former queen ever was. My mother, father, sister, brother – all dead. I have no home. We live in a hellhole. People are starving and dying of disease. And for what? The Lannister forces had already surrendered; we were defenseless. Yet that _bitch_ still slaughtered us all like cattle!” Tears had sprung to her eyes, and she was breathing heavily, fighting to keep her voice from breaking.

Each word struck Daenerys like a dagger finding its mark, embedding itself so deeply in her heart – already derelict from betrayal and loss – that there was no hope for retrieval. Unbeknownst to her, Demelza’s words had hit their rightful target.

Daenerys slowly reached out and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She felt almost ashamed of the gesture, imagining how Demelza would recoil if she knew who was touching her. “Demelza, I am so sorry.”

And she was. More than Demelza would ever realize. Not that it did any good. Not that it’d come close to making up for the evil she’d committed in one moment of madness, of self-righteous rage.

“You were an innocent, as were so many others. You didn’t deserve _any_ of it. I’m sure if the queen could see this for herself, if she only heard each of your stories, she’d hate herself as much as you do her.” Daenerys fought to keep her voice steady, fought the tears that threatened to spring to her eyes.

Demelza sniffled, dragging an arm across her face. “Assuming she had a conscience, which I _completely_ doubt.” Then she straightened, and Daenerys saw a stoic curtain descend over her face. “Let’s not talk about her anymore or I’ll rip my hair out. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my brother and grandfather.”

Daenerys almost made up some excuse to avoid it. But no, that would not do. She was a queen, and a queen did not hide. Demelza’s small, cold hand closed around hers, and Daenerys allowed herself to be led back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! I'm always eager to hear your thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

As Demelza led Daenerys back towards camp, she noticed that the girl walked rigidly, her eyes constantly scanning over her surroundings. She kept a firm hold on Daenerys, and every few seconds she’d look over at the woman as though ascertaining that she wouldn’t vanish into thin air.

Demelza shared a small tent with what was left of her family on the southern edge of the camp. Her brother was sitting cross-legged just outside their tent, finishing up his meal. The grandfather was resting nearby on an overturned bucket, immersed in conversation with their neighbors.

“Grandpa, Colborn – this is Dany, the woman from a few days ago.” Demelza presented the violet-eyed woman to her family, and Daenerys forced her features into a courteous smile. “I found her near the edge of camp about to be robbed.”

Colborn put a fist to his mouth, stifling a chuckle. “Not from around here, are you?” He extended his hand, which Daenerys accepted. “I’m Colborn. I never got a chance to thank you for helping my sister that day.”

“It was the least I could do,” Daenerys replied. And it was. Truly.

The elderly man introduced himself as Bringham, also offering his gratitude. “I’d offer you some gruel but there’s barely enough for just one.”

He indicated his empty bowl, and it was then that Daenerys noticed he was missing his left hand. “Courtesy of a Dothraki soldier,” he stated, answering the unspoken question. “Would’ve been my head as well had I not rolled out of the way and disappeared into the fray.”

“I’ll leave you lot to get acquainted. I’m going to see how Alyce is getting on.” Demelza disappeared amidst the tents.

“Please, have a seat.” Colborn patted the spot of ground beside him, and Daenerys obliged. “You’re obviously a visitor. Where are you from, and what brings you to our ruined city?” He grinned, but like his sister, it never reached his eyes.

“I’m from Essos. I have family here.”

“We used to live on the Street of Steel. My father was a blacksmith, and I was his apprentice.” Colborn bit his lip and momentarily dropped his gaze, twiddling with his folded hands. “He didn’t get a chance to teach me everything, but hopefully enough so I can run the shop after it’s rebuilt.”

“Oy, what am I, a pile o’ bones?” Bringham glared. “I may have only one hand left, but I can still work!”

“Of course, Grandpa.” The two shared a chuckle, and Colborn turned back to Daenerys. “We were there to check on the progress. Our forge is being rebuilt. I’ve offered to help multiple times, but the stonemasons said I’d only be in the way.”

Daenerys nodded. “I don’t mean to overstep,” she said, looking between the pair, “but I remember you expressing a desire to send Demelza away, and saying that not even the brothels would take her.”

The boy dropped his gaze in shame. “I shouldn’t’ve said that. She does her best for us. If it weren’t for her, we’d be a lot hungrier.”

“It were a slip of temper,” admitted Bringham.

“My sister…” Colborn sighed. “She hasn’t been right since the attack. Well, none of us have been, but her most of all. Our sister died in her arms. She doesn’t smile, hardly speaks. Doesn’t play with the children like she used to. She startles at everything and flies into a temper at the slightest provocation. Something’ll set her off and then she’ll be crying and gasping for breath like she’s dying.”

“You both still wake up screaming,” supplied Bringham. “Between the two of you and everyone else, I can hardly sleep a wink.”

“A lot of us still do. Especially the children.”

It was then that Demelza reappeared. “Alyce is on the mend. Her fever broke. But her baby died last night.”

“May the gods rest his soul,” prayed Bringham.

“It was a blessing if you ask me,” Demelza responded emotionlessly. “Better off dead than in this hell of a life.”

Daenerys stood up. “Why don’t you show me around the camp?” she said to the girl.

“Not much to see, but I’ve got nothing better to do.”

With a parting smile to Colborn and Bringham, Daenerys followed Demelza as she led the way deeper into camp. The girl made for a most informative tour guide. Daenerys learned that there was never enough food to eat three meals a day. Sometimes they had to make do with just one. This camp was lucky to be located near a water pump, but clean water was still in short supply, what with so many people. Not to mention the other camps. Sexual assaults, violence, and theft was rampant. The soldiers often mistreated the smallfolk.

“People stab each other over food. The other day a girl kicked another to death. The soldiers beat us for minor things. Some of them love to have their way with our women and girls. And sometimes little boys. The Dothraki, of course, not the Unsullied.”

Daenerys’ eyes flared with amethyst fire. Her fists clenched at her sides. The city officials and soldiers had _conveniently_ left out all those details in their reports.

“Do you know any of their names?” she asked stoically, with barely suppressed fury.

Demelza stopped and turned to look at Daenerys with a quizzically bitter, slightly wary expression. “Would it matter? We both know no one’s going to do a damned thing about it.”

“I have a score to settle with a few of them,” Daenerys answered vaguely.

Suddenly, Demelza grabbed Daenerys’ arms. “No, don’t go near them!” she cried in terror. “You’d make them a fine bedslave and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

The raw concern in her voice, in her chestnut-colored eyes was almost too much for Daenerys to bear. On impulse, she reached out and drew the girl close. Demelza stiffened in surprise – but just for a second before she melted into the embrace, wrapping her thin arms protectively around Daenerys.

“I’d forgotten how it feels to be held,” Demelza murmured into the woman’s shoulder, and Daenerys bit her lip.

She had just enough time to school her features into a soothing smile as they pulled apart, though she couldn’t disguise the sadness in her eyes had she tried. She reached for Demelza’s hands, grasping them reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me, Demelza. Trust me when I say that I’m not as defenseless as I seem.” She gazed at the girl steadily, and after a moment Demelza visibly relaxed under her calm, confident demeanor.

“I don’t know them by name, but I can recognize a few. I can point them out if they happen to be around. Only we’ll have to be discreet.”

Daenerys nodded, looking around. She silently cursed herself for not having thought of prohibiting mistreatment of the conquered people after the war. She’d only ever thought of rebuilding the city as she saw fit, of the worldwide territories she had yet to liberate – to mold into her vision of a new world. She’d never considered the safety of the smallfolk.

_Because you thought them beneath consideration – collateral damage._

Daenerys steeled herself, swallowing the corrosive guilt. That ended now.

She fished something out of her pocket and pressed it into Demelza’s palm. When she’d said she wasn’t carrying valuables, she’d forgotten this item. Not that it was worth much…in terms of monetary value. The girl regarded the black, carved stone horse with a curious frown, looking up at Daenerys. “What’s this?”

“It was a gift. If any of the Dothraki try to harm you, show them this and tell them you know Kovarro. They won’t understand you but they’ll recognize the name.”

“Kovarro.” Demelza rolled the foreign name over her tongue, committing it to memory. Then she smiled gratefully and pocketed the stone. “Thanks. How did you come to befriend a Dothraki, anyways?”

“Long story,” Daenerys answered, making her tone suggest that it was a boring, tedious tale to dissuade interest. It worked.

They’d arrived at the edge of the camp. “The children like to play amidst the ruins,” Demelza stated, nodding towards a playground of crumbled stones, the remains of houses and shops. She eyed one particular pile that towered a couple of stories high. “This is my favorite spot.” Without another word, she rushed to it and began to climb, sending loose stones falling underfoot.

“Demelza, be careful, it’s not safe!” Daenerys called, running after her.

“There’s no such thing as safety!” the girl retorted without turning around, scrambling up the stones in a quick but skillful way.

After a brief hesitation, Daenerys followed. _What in the gods names am I doing?_ she thought, letting out a small laugh of amused incredulity. If only all the lords and ladies and soldiers at the Red Keep could see her now – their queen scaling a mountain of debris like a goat.

The stones were too unstable to climb to the top, and Demelza had situated herself on a large slab halfway up. Daenerys had almost reached her when a stone gave out from under her left foot, sending her sprawling painfully onto her belly as she grabbed for the nearest handholds to keep from sliding down the mound. “Oomph!”

Demelza smirked. “Were I still able to laugh, I would’ve split my sides. Need a hand, m’lady?” She extended a hand and Daenerys, mock scowling, allowed the girl to pull her up beside her.

There they quietly perched like mismatched birds, overlooking the ruined city.

“Are you part fay, Dany?” Demelza asked suddenly. She was sitting with knees drawn to chest, resting her head sideways on her arms and eyeing the woman inquisitively.

“What?” Daenerys asked, surprised.

“Your hair…it’s like starlight. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Demelza’s voice was curious with a touch of awe.

Unlike her first day at the city, Daenerys now wore her hair completely loose in a platinum cascade down her back and shoulders. She smiled. “Thank you.”

Demelza reached out, seemed to think better of it and quickly snatched her hand back, looking away.

“It’s okay,” Daenerys encouraged. “Go ahead.”

Demelza reached back out and laid a hand upon the silken tresses, letting them slowly flow through her fingers like silvery-white water. Daenerys watched the girl thoughtfully. How long had it been since someone had looked upon her with such simple curiosity, seeing not a ruler, not a mad queen, but just a woman?

Demelza let her hand fall back to her side. She turned from Daenerys, tilting her head skyward. “Up here,” she said, her voice taking on a faraway quality, “if I don’t look down, I can almost pretend everything is normal. Peaceful. Just me and the sky and clouds.”

Daenerys cast her gaze up to the sky, taking in the unending expanse of blue, the puffy clouds hanging above them, drifting so slowly the unobservant eye would think them unmoving. She thought of riding Drogon, and for a second wished she could take Demelza along.

“Indeed,” she breathed.

She looked back at Demelza, taking in her relaxed posture, the shadow of sadness that never left her distant eyes, the way the late morning sunlight illuminated streaks of ruby in her loose auburn hair.

Oh, how she regretted it… _so_ much.

As if sensing her mood, the girl turned to Daenerys. Haunted chestnut eyes held rueful amethyst ones.

“Why are you so sad?” she asked, voice softer than Daenerys had ever heard it.

Daenerys felt a slight shiver when the girl’s cold hand covered her own.

“How could I not be?” Daenerys replied, unable to hold Demelza’s gaze. She couldn’t bear to see the tenderness there. She did not deserve it.

Demelza nodded. “I know.” She sighed. “I don’t even remember what happiness feels like. Doesn’t seem like there ever was such a thing.”

That Daenerys understood all too well.

Demelza slowly leaned over, resting her head on Daenerys’ shoulder and closing her eyes. She didn’t seem angry then. Or wild. Just lifeless.

Daenerys wrapped an arm tenderly around the girl, closing her own eyes. “Let’s pretend, then.”


	4. Chapter 4

**_Four Months Ago_ **

The odor of burnt flesh hung heavy in the tent, permeated with the reek of blood and death. Four consecutive days of working in the makeshift infirmary and Demelza didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to it.

Invalids of every age and social class, all with varying degrees of injury, occupied nearly every available space. There was barely enough room for the healers to maneuver.

“Please take this water to him.” A healer placed a cup of water in Demelza’s hands, indicating someone a few rows down. “I’ve got to fetch some more.”

“How about him?” Demelza inclined her head toward an inert body at the far end of the tent. “No one’s been seeing to him all day.”

The healer leaned in closer. “No point, child,” she said in a low voice leaden with resigned grimness. “It would only be a waste of scarce supplies.” She sighed and headed off.

The girl eyed the man in question, feeling a dull tug in her chest. But she dutifully went to administer the water. As she turned from the invalid’s bed – a scarred teenage boy with half his face and a large part of his right shoulder burnt – she caught sight of the black sky through the tent flap as one of the healers entered. If she didn’t return soon to her brother and grandfather, they’d start to worry.

“We have three more coming,” said the healer who had just entered to a colleague, in a hushed tone so as not to disturb the feverish, uneasy slumber of the patients.

The second healer pointed towards the edge of the tent. “That one will be dead soon. Might as well move him out. We need all the space we can get.”

Demelza watched as they lifted the man up and bore him away in a stretcher. Despite their efforts to be gentle, he moaned horribly as his burns were jostled. The sound scraped at Demelza’s nerves like claws upon grimy glass. She followed at a hesitant distance as they carried him out. Since he was not yet dead, they did not take him to the makeshift morgue next door. Instead, they just set down the stretcher in a secluded place behind the tent and walked away.

“Girl, you should get back to your family,” said one of the healers in a gruff tone. “’Tis late.”

Demelza nodded mutely as they went back inside the tent. She stood, caught between a perturbed urge to go to the dying man and the desire to get away – go as far from this place of rotting death as possible.

Tremulously, she approached the man and knelt by his side. Burns covered every inch of flesh she could see. When he’d been brought in, the healers had to cut away his clothing which had melted into his skin. It was impossible for Demelza to discern his age – his face was nothing more but a ghoulish twist of burnt, scarred flesh.

The man’s eyes were closed. Demelza bent closer, her heart fluttering. Was he already dead?

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open. In the grim twilight, illuminated only by the torches framing the tent, they trained on Demelza. “Please…release me.” His voice was a hoarse croak, pain lacing every syllable.

Demelza shook her head wildly, a sickening quiver chilling every inch of her body.

Run. Back to her tent. Bury herself in her blanket and block out this apocalypse.

“Please, child,” rasped the man again. His hand trembled as though he were trying in vain to raise it. But unwaveringly, he held the girl’s gaze like a lifeline.

And suddenly they were not gray but brown. She was staring at the man, but in her mind, she was gazing down at another, smaller body. The ghost settled upon the invalid, blending with time and space until she no longer knew the difference between the dying sister she’d held in her arms and the stranger before her.

“Tell me your name, sir,” she whispered.

“Arundel.” A cough.

“Close your eyes, Arundel.” She fought back the tears building behind her eyes, forced herself to smile, to give him one last piece of warmth to take with him.

The man obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut. He could not see the blade she drew, with quivering hand, from its sheath.

Demelza drew a breath. “My mother used to tell me that when I was troubled, to imagine a peaceful place. Sometimes I’d imagine I was in one of those seaside paintings the artists make. Can you see it, golden sands stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction? The clouds, hanging like the softest cotton in the sky? Can you feel the breeze tousling your hair, the sun warm on your face?” She fought to keep her voice steady, keep the unshed tears from leaking into her tone.

“Yes,” the man breathed, and Demelza saw a smile ghost across his lips.

She drew the blade across his throat in one quick, fluid motion.

Blood spouted forth, soaking everything within reach. It seeped through fabric, through skin, into her very essence – a crimson so deep it would never wash out.

She dropped her head into bloodstained hands and sobbed.


	5. Chapter 5

Jon Snow slumped down onto the ground, the cool stone wall a welcome support for his sore back. He stretched his tired legs before him, rolling his shoulders and grimacing. Already, he felt the acidic soreness creeping into his arms from another day of lifting stones.

Missandei slid down beside him. For a moment, they rested in companionable silence. Then Missandei spoke. “After all the battles you’ve fought, I know a day of clearing debris from the city wouldn’t have worn you down this much. What’s wrong?”

Jon looked up at her, a guarded look entering his eyes. “It’s nothing. Just lost in thought.”

“You know, just because I’m the Queen’s handmaiden doesn’t mean I can’t keep information private from her,” Missandei replied, light tone belying her meaning.

Jon stared. Finally, he said, “So far, Daenerys has postponed any other conquests to focus on rebuilding Westeros. But I know it won’t last long.”

“You think she’s set her sights on Lannisport,” Missandei responded.

“I know she has. You’ve heard her talk of it, interspersed between the usual affairs. I used to think that taking the Iron Throne would satiate her, but it’s proven to be just another steppingstone in her vision delusional scheme of world conquest.” Jon’s voice roughened, bitterness seeping in like bile.

Missandei frowned slightly. “I know. But she won’t make the same mistake she did with King’s Landing.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up at the confidence with which she spoke. “And how do you know?” His gaze burned into Missandei’s, burned with the memory of dragonfire and ash and charred bodies. His voice became fierce. “You did not stand there with her at the Iron Throne after the attack. You did not _see_ the impassive look in her eyes when I told her of the slaughter she’d committed. Innocent soldiers, men, women, children! Missandei, she didn’t even _flinch._ She wasn’t disturbed in the slightest!”

He let out an incredulous exhale, unconsciously twisting a hand through his messy hair. He stared down at the ground, brooding gaze burning through stone. Missandei said nothing. Merely looked at him in rueful understanding, waiting for him to continue.

Jon looked back up at her, and when he spoke again his voice was hollow, faraway. “‘It was necessary,’ she said.” He let his hand drop limply to his lap. “‘It was necessary.’” He let out another, more forceful exhale, shaking his head slowly.

Missandei laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Daenerys did a monstrous, unforgivable thing. I don’t dispute that. I’ve been her most loyal friend for years, and I can understand the horror you must have felt, watching the woman you loved commit that atrocity and be so unrepentant about it.” She sighed, letting her hand fall. “When I saw her addressing her forces, I too was horrified at what she’d become. I thought, in that moment, that the friend I knew and admired had died the moment she gave that command to Drogon.”

“She did,” Jon growled.

But Missandei shook her head. “No. She is not the same – idealistic, ruthless. But these past few days I’ve noticed a change in her, the kind, just woman she once was fighting to break through. She won’t speak of it, but I know her conscience weighs heavy on her. Before, she was making plans for her next conquest, but now most of her efforts are focused on rebuilding King’s Landing. She even makes the rounds herself, in disguise, to monitor progress.”

“Still, how do you know she won’t do _this_ – “Jon swept an agitated arm, encompassing the destruction around them - "again? All in the name of _liberation?_ ” He spat out the word like rotten fruit.

“Because I have faith in my Queen,” Missandei answered, her voice steady. “She’s seen what she’s done – immerses herself in it constantly. Whatever madness gripped her then, I know she won’t allow it again.”

Jon looked away, still doubtful. A pregnant silence passed.

“What else is there?” Missandei asked, gently prodding. “I see the guilt in your eyes every time you look at her. You can never hold her gaze for more than a few seconds, and I know it has nothing to do with your shared lineage.”

“It would be selfish and reckless to tell you. Trust me, you don’t want to be burdened with the knowledge.”

“That’s for me to choose. And I have,” Missandei replied firmly. “Tell me.”

Jon sighed heavily. He stared away into nothingness. Then he said, his voice hollow, “Tyrion tried to persuade me to kill Daenerys. And I – I was so torn. I loved her dearly, but I didn’t know how many more innocents would perish in her mad conquests.”

Missandei drew in a soft, surprised breath, but said nothing.

“I was going to do it. But when I held her in my arms, felt her lips on mine, I just couldn’t. Even knowing what I did, I couldn’t bring myself to take her life.” Again Jon tangled a hand through his hair, more forcefully this time. “I was weak. And selfish. I chose my love for her over an untold number of lives.”

“No,” Missandei answered. “You made the right choice.”

“I hope to the gods you’re right.”

Missandei gazed thoughtfully at him. “Do you still love her?”

Jon shook his head. “No. I bear her no hatred. I will serve her loyally, continue trying to keep her on the path of reason. But I’ve no love for her anymore. Even as we kissed that last time, I felt it slipping away.”

It was time to return to the Red Keep. Jon and Missandei pulled themselves up, not bothering to brush the dirt off their already grimy clothes. As they passed the archway of the ruined building, Jon’s gaze caught on something in his peripheral vision. He turned his head.

And saw, with a sensation akin to a heavy stone sinking through the bottom of his stomach, a young girl half concealed behind what remained of an inner wall. Her bloodless face was a tempest of emotion – shock, fury, disgust.

“Did you – “Jon sputtered.

Before he could process what was happening, a searing pain split his brow and something warm and wet dripped down into his left eye. Missandei gave a shriek of alarm, and Jon looked in dazed confusion from the jagged rock that had landed at his feet to the girl.

“You selfish _pig!_ ” she snarled. “Helping us now to appease your guilty conscience, are you?”

Before Jon could open his mouth, the girl had run off into the ruins.


	6. Chapter 6

“I wondered if I’d find you here.”

Demelza startled awake, jolting ramrod straight from where she’d been dozing against her favorite rock pile. Her eyes instantly fell upon the silver-haired woman standing over her, who immediately took a respectful half-step back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Dany!” A wide grin spread across Demelza’s face. She shoved off from the rocks and, on impulse, flung herself into Dany’s arms. It’d been a day since she’d last seen her, and she’d had no reason to believe she’d be back.

The woman nearly toppled over with the unexpected force, but she laughed warmly and embraced the girl, rocking her playfully from side to side, and Demelza found herself swaddled in silvery softness and the sweet fragrance of wild honeysuckles.

“Turn around in a circle,” Demelza instructed when they’d pulled apart. Dany quirked a questioning eyebrow but obeyed. Demelza’s eyes widened as she took in the intricate crown braid, which left thick waves of silvery-white cascading down the woman’s back and shoulders over a contrasting background of dark clothing. “You’re beautiful, Dany. Did the fairies braid your hair?”

Dany chuckled. “Not unless they’re disguised as humans.”

Demelza lifted a shoulder. “You can’t be sure they aren’t changelings.”

Dany’s smile widened, and Demelza ran a hand through her own hair, suddenly self-conscious about her tangled masses.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Dany commented, as though sensing her thoughts. “You just need to brush it, but it’d look good either down as you have it or braided.”

“Thanks.” The time when she’d cared about her appearance was far from Demelza’s mind. “So what brings you here?”

“A business matter I need your help with.”

Demelza blinked and put a hand to her chest. “Desperate you must be, calling upon a lowly street urchin. And a mad one to boot.” Her blasé smirk belied the flattered warmth that had taken hold in her breast.

Dany unexpectedly took hold of both her shoulders, amethyst eyes suddenly stern. “Demelza. Do not speak so lowly of yourself, even in jest.”

Demelza looked down, pushing down the sudden sense of vulnerability crawling over her skin. “Well, it’s true anyhow.” She pushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “That’s what the others call me – bonkers, wildchild, the mad girl. And not without reason.”

She’d never been the type to put much stock into what others thought of her, so she didn’t care.

Well…it was easy to _fool_ herself into believing it never stung, deep down where she shoved it.

That is, until she couldn’t keep it in anymore and it exploded out in a fit of temper that unsettled even the older girls and boys, which just threw more wood onto the pyre. They all knew better now than to say anything to her face, but she still caught wind of the slander they spread behind her back.

Dany nodded somberly. “People judge what they don’t understand – hate it, fear it. They see what they expect to see, but they never realize their wretched actions create a self-fulfilling prophecy.” A hint of steel crept into her eyes, twisted a corner of her mouth.

“Speaking from personal experience, I reckon?” Demelza commented with a frown, her curiosity piqued.

Dany sighed and looked away. “Yes.” She folded her arms as though embracing herself, looking over the ruined city. The steel in her eyes faded into an expression of such rueful grief that it made Demelza’s heart ache.

She took Dany’s hand. “Well, whatever they say about you, it can’t be any worse than the stories about the Queen. Mad as a march hare, that one is, and it ain’t no lie.” Just talking about her made Demelza’s blood boil.

Dany looked down at their entwined hands. And to Demelza’s astonishment, two large crystalline tears dribbled down her cheeks.

“Aww Dany, what’s wrong?” Demelza reached up and swept a thumb over milky skin, brushing away a tear. She was more than accustomed to despair but seeing Dany cry was strangely upsetting.

To her dismay, this seemed to have made it worse, for Dany’s face crumpled. She turned away, covering her eyes, shoulders quivering as she began to weep in earnest. 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Demelza exclaimed, alarmed and bewildered. “Was it…did I upset you?” 

It took Dany a few moments to regain her breath. She turned back to face the girl. “No. It’s the opposite.” She drew a deep breath, steadying herself. “No one has treated me with such tenderness in ages. I don’t deserve your kindness, Demelza.”

_What have they done to you to make you hate yourself so much? Or what have_ you _done?_

Demelza thought for a moment. “Well, you showed me kindness. So you have mine.” She wanted to embrace the woman but held back for fear it’d send her into another crying spell.

“Thank you.” Dany sniffled and dried her eyes. Then she drew herself straight, composed once more. “Now. I’m very sorry to have to ask you this because I know it’ll be distressing, but I need your help.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After studying the map of King's Landing, I made minor edits to chapters 1-3 to fit the geography.
> 
> Thank you all for your support. Enjoy!

“You told me before that you could recognize some of the Dothraki who’ve been committing rape. I need you to help me do that,” Daenerys told the girl.

Demelza frowned. “How? They’re thousands of them all over the city.”

“I know. But they tend to frequent Littlefinger’s Brothel and the surrounding taverns. The Street of Steel, too.”

“What’s left of it,” Demelza added bitterly, and with a dull pang Daenerys remembered that the blacksmith’s daughter used to live there.

Daenerys nodded solemnly, but immediately shoved all sentiment down into oblivion. She had no use for regrets, not when she had a task to complete. “It’s my hope that if we visit these places, you may be able to identify a few of them. We won’t be able to apprehend them all, but it’ll be a start.”

Demelza shifted uncomfortably, but there was a determined gleam in her eyes. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” Daenerys smiled.

She’d been wearing a shawl to disguise herself on the way to the camp, which she had since taken off due to the heat. Now she put it back on, tucking her silvery locks into the hood.

Demelza eyed her. “Are you afraid they’ll recognize you? Why would it matter? You have a score to settle with them, anyways, if I remember currently.”

“Yes, but if they recognize me too soon, they’ll make off.”

“Ah.” On instinct, Demelza did a quick scan of her surroundings, though there were no Dothraki anywhere nearby. “And what will you do if we find them? It isn’t as though you could just throw them in the dungeon to rot.”

_I could,_ Daenerys thought, _but why waste a perfect example?_

No, she intended to make a spectacle of their execution as a clear warning to the rest of her Dothraki: no matter what their lifestyle had always been, she would not tolerate rape – not here, not in any of her territories. 

“My family knows some people higher up who will take care of it. They will be put to justice, have no doubt of that.” Daenerys lied effortlessly, but her last statement was steel-solid truth.

Side by side, the pair walked back through the Square. As they turned onto the Street of Steel, Daenerys, who was treading a couple of steps behind Demelza so she could unobtrusively examine the girl’s demeanor, checked for any sign of discomfort. She remembered the state Demelza had been in when she’d first met her and wondered how many times Demelza had been back to her home street. But if Demelza felt any lingering trace of sadness, she didn’t show it. Her face was set in a stoic mask that betrayed the shadow of a scowl, and she walked with her characteristically rigid gait. Daenerys remembered what Colborn had said – that Demelza never smiled. The guilt rose again, a slow-consuming poison.

“ _So…_ ” Demelza turned to her companion, drawing out the word meaningfully, “I’ve kept mum because it wasn’t my business, but since you’ve got me on a wild goose chase, aren’t you going to tell me exactly what’s going on between you and the Dothraki? You’re not from here, so I doubt you’d care what they do to us unless you have a personal stake in it.”

Daenerys had already picked up on Demelza’s tone before the girl had even asked. She already knew how she’d respond. “You’re right, it _is_ personal. I know what it’s like to be raped. So whatever I can do to stop the injustice, I will.”

Demelza’s gaze softened in understanding, and she gave Daenerys a respectful nod.

Piles of remaining debris lay scattered along the once-bustling street. “Mind your step,” Demelza cautioned as she stepped over fallen blocks from the ruined remains of a shop, Daenerys following closely behind.

The queen frowned, taking in the carnage. Only a couple of blacksmith shops had been left intact, and a little over a quarter of the whole street had been rebuilt. “I would’ve thought this would be the first place they rebuilt. Isn’t the army concerned about where they’ll get their supplies?”

“How should I know?” Demelza replied churlishly, without turning around. “Them bastards at the Red Keep can’t be expected to care for us smallfolk, now can they?” She gave a short bark of entirely mirthless laughter that sounded less pleasant to Daenerys than dragon claws dragging down a grimy window. “Too busy wasting stones on the castle.” With a swift kick, Demelza sent a loose pile of gravel spraying into the road.

Daenerys cringed. Then she let out a nearly inaudible huff of frustration. She’d been far too lackadaisical in overseeing the city’s renovation. Only now did she finally admit to herself that she had never really cared. Until recently, her focus had been restructuring the governments in her various territories and planning future conquests. It was Jon who’d been overseeing most of the rebuilding.

Daenerys couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her before – this street was a vital part of the economy. As soon as she took care of the Dothraki problem, she’d order more stonemasons diverted here.

And then Demelza would have a home again.

Daenerys saw a blacksmith hand over a stack of horseshoes to a burly middle-aged warrior, his gaze simmering with barely concealed hatred. The man immediately turned and walked away; no one was fool enough to deny the Dothraki their plunder. Daenerys immediately bent to the ground, pretending to tie her laces so that the man could only see the top of her head as he walked past, lest he recognize his khaleesi.

Demelza recognized none of the Dothraki milling about the streets, nor in Tobho Mott’s shop. Daenerys paid for a wagon – she’d foreseen the need for money today before leaving the Red Keep – to take them to the Street of Silk. Unlike many parts of the city, the red-light district had sustained minimal damage and was as bustling as ever. Young women stood outside the various brothels, enticing cliental off the streets. Daenerys’ nose itched from the musky blend of cheap perfumes permeating the air.

Suddenly, Demelza swore under her breath and pulled Daenerys behind two rambunctious men, then to the other side of the street.

“What, did you recognize someone?” Daenerys’ eyes darted across the faces of both Dothraki and wealthy citizens alike.

“Yes, but it’s not what you think.” Demelza nodded across the street at one of the brothels, towards a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. With a tantalizing smile, she hung onto the arm of a passing young merchant with fine-tailored garments.

Daenerys did a double take, then snapped her gaze back to Demelza. “You’ve…frequented this place?” she asked, flummoxed.

“Oh gods no.” The girl’s cheeks colored slightly. “As if I could afford that. No, but her younger sister and I had a brief tryst that didn’t end on the best of terms. I’m just glad Grandpa never found out or he’d have taken the belt to me for fraternizing with a girl from a _‘disreputable’_ family.”

“I see.”

As they approached Littlefinger’s, they came across a tavern. It was the only one on the street.

“Let’s check here first,” Demelza suggested.

Inside, steps led into a crowded, dimly lit space with a low-hanging ceiling. Dothraki, wealthy merchants, and nobles occupied every table and seat at the bar.

Suddenly, Demelza seized Daenerys’ arm in a death grip. “H-him,” she said in a barely audible tremor, raising a shaky arm to point at a Dothraki who was sitting at the bar.

“The one sorting through various objects on the table?” Unlike Demelza, Daenerys’ voice held no hint of fear, nor did she attempt to keep her voice low. Almost none of the Dothraki spoke Common Tongue, and seeing as the man’s back was turned, he had no way of knowing they were speaking about him.

“Yes.”

Demelza had gone whey-faced, but undisguised loathing shone through the fear in her eyes. “I’ve seen him loitering about the camp a few times. He’s had his way with several of the women. One of them even got with child and nearly bled to death getting shot of it. And he tried once with me.”

Before Daenerys could respond, the man swept all the objects he was examining into a satchel and turned to leave. At first, his eyes swept over the pair. Then he did a double take, his attention catching on Demelza.

“You!” His face twisted into a leer. “You won’t get so lucky this time!” He lunged forward.

Demelza didn’t understand the language, but she couldn’t mistake the tone. She let out a terrified sound somewhere between a squeak and a scream and made to bolt, but Daenerys swept the girl behind her and stepped forward. “Lay a finger on her and you’ll meet your death by dragonfire,” she snarled in Dothraki, her low, severe voice thrice more blood-chilling than a yell.

The man froze. Then his eyes shot wide open, and Daenerys recognized him a split second after the moment.

“Haggo,” she addressed him, her tone nothing but icy contempt. He’d been one of Drogo’s bloodriders who’d deserted Daenerys after her husband’s death.

“Khaleesi!”

At that, all the nearby Dothraki in the tavern turned their heads. Somewhere to her left, Daenerys heard the sound of a mug sliding off the table and striking against the floor. The young khaleesi swept her gaze over each of them, hyperaware of Demelza’s presence just behind her.

“Do not breathe a word,” Daenerys ordered before any of them could speak. “The girl does not know who I am, nor does anyone else in the city. And you will keep it that way, understood? Act natural.”

The men answered with a chorus of _yes, Khaleesi._

“Now go back to minding your own affairs.”

All but Haggo resumed their conversations, and the noisy bustle once again provided a screen of privacy. Daenerys didn’t risk turning to look at Demelza, but she felt the girl’s gaze burning into her back.

She trained her icy amethyst eyes on Haggo. “This girl tells me you attempted to rape her and that you’ve done so with others. How many? Which of your comrades here have done the same? Tell the truth and I’ll be lenient. I have eyes around the city, so if you lie, I’ll find out.”

In truth, Daenerys was still trying to figure out how she would apprehend the rest of the culprits. But Haggo had no way of knowing that.

“Four, Khaleesi. Not including her,” Haggo answered gruffly. Then he pointed out two other men by name.

“Carry on as usual and say nothing to your comrades.” Daenerys relaxed her tone to give the man a false sense of security. “I will speak to you later. But if you attempt to flee the city, my Unsullied will track you down and you _will_ be put to death.”

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys guided Demelza out of the tavern, bracing herself for what she knew would come. As soon as they’d stepped out and closed the door behind them, Demelza pulled away. “Who _are_ you?” she demanded. “I may not speak Dothraki, but I know _khaleesi_ is what they call their queens.”

Daenerys was accustomed to people gazing upon her with fear. But seeing the distrust in Demelza’s eyes caused a bitter, twisting sensation to unfurl in her chest. Demelza evidently didn’t suspect she was the queen, or she would’ve flown at her by now. Yet even when she was just plain Dany she still inspired mistrust.

“Dany…why are you looking at me like that?” Demelza took a full step back.

Too late, Daenerys realized that her emotions must have shown on her face. She didn’t know what Demelza had seen, but from the expression on the girl’s face, it had been unnerving.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said, features softening regretfully. “It’s just that people always look at me like I’m the enemy because of where I’m from and my acquaintance with the Dothraki.”

Just as on the day she’d met Demelza, Daenerys decided that honesty was the best cover. She just hoped that Demelza hadn’t heard too many stories about her queen. Or if she had, that she didn’t pay them much mind. The daughter of a mere blacksmith was likely far removed from politics. Still, it was a risky move, but she had no time to come up with something safer. “My late husband was a khal, so I have influence among them. It was an arranged marriage.”

Demelza gaped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not something I advertise,” Daenerys replied drily.

Demelza lifted a shoulder in assent. “Fair point. I’m sorry if I seem too suspicious. You just took me aback, was all. And you never know whom to trust ‘round here.”

Daenerys nodded, a thin veil of guilt-tinged sadness settling over her. “I understand.”

She’d never technically lied to Demelza about her identity. Everything she’d revealed had been true. But a lie by omission was just as potent. She knew she couldn’t keep up the charade forever. Soon, one way or another, Demelza would learn the truth.

The queen was sorely tempted to just out with it right then and there. Why was she drawing this out when she _knew_ , without a flicker of doubt, that there was no hope of a happy resolution?

Even now, after all she had taken from Demelza, she was hurting her still. The longer she allowed the girl to bond with her, the greater the emotional carnage when the inevitable came. The knowledge seared at her like bile, like dragonfire.

But in the moment that Daenerys made up her mind, Demelza said, “Anyways, thank you for protecting me, Dany.”

She offered the queen a small, grateful smile.

And Daenerys just couldn’t bring herself to do it – to watch the girl’s innocuous, amiable expression twist into sheer loathing.

Demelza looked back at the tavern door. “What will happen to him?” she asked, referring to Haggo.

“That’s yet to be decided,” Daenerys replied.

Up until now, she’d been set on execution, either by sword or by dragonfire, but she unexpectedly found herself entertaining another option.

“If you had a say in his fate, what would you want?”

Without hesitation, Demelza answered, “I want him dead, but that’s too easy. What’s the worst thing that can happen to a Dothraki?”

“Shame. Defeat. Loss of honor.”

Demelza folded her arms. “Don’t they cut off the braids of defeated warriors? Well, if I had my way, I’d have him and all the other raping swine get their braids shorn off, then parade them through the city so all can see their shame.”

Daenerys raised her eyebrows. “Now that’s a befitting punishment,” she stated approvingly.

Demelza nodded in satisfaction. “Nice of you to ask what I want, even if it’s just hypothetical.” She tossed a few locks of stray hair over her shoulder. “Hardly anyone does. Everyone always presumes to know what’s best, and no one cares how I feel or what I think.”

A cold band of steel seemed to tighten around Daenerys’ chest.

_I know what’s right._

_They don’t get to choose._

Yes, she did know what was right, more than most others. But what she’d done – no amount of justification could ever make it right.

“I know how that is,” Daenerys replied solemnly. To remove her mind from her fruitless musings, she asked, with genuine curiosity, “If I may, you said he _tried_ to rape you. How did you get away?”

“I couldn’t reach my knife because he’d pinned my arms, so I pretended to go unconscious. When he loosened his grip, I kicked him in the groin and ran off.”

“Admirable,” commented Daenerys, with a nod. “That was smart.”

Demelza shrugged a shoulder. “I should’ve stabbed him as soon as I got my arms free, but I was too intent on getting away.”

“It must’ve been greatly distressing, coming face-to-face with the man who tried to violate you,” Daenerys said. “Thank you for braving your discomfort.”

Demelza gave Daenerys a stiff nod. “Come on. Let’s see if I can recognize anyone at Littlefinger’s.”

Hand in hand, they walked away from the tavern.


	8. Chapter 8

Demelza identified one more culprit at Littlefinger’s Brothel, one that Daenerys didn’t personally know. She approached him and their exchange went smoothly. The queen gave him the impression that she’d merely like a word with him later about his ‘misdemeanors.’

Upon finishing her conversation with the man, Daenerys turned to search for Demelza across the room, finding her companion feasting her eyes like a curious child upon the lavishly furnished parlor. Loveseats of plum red cushions matched the sultry red drapes and candelabras of intricate metalwork winked in the dim light. Golden clocks and embellished vases stood on the mantel over a great hearth.

A woman floated past in a cream and blue satin gown, stopping to regard the girl. “There’s a demand for young girls, you know. You’re a pretty one. If you tidied up, you might not do so bad for yourself.”

To Daenerys’ surprise, Demelza didn’t look the least bit ruffled. She gave the woman a smile of cynical amusement. “It’s a shame there aren’t more women who desire girls.”

“Actually,” replied the woman, “there are a few. But unlike the men, they usually prefer girls their own age. With your height, maybe if you could pass off as older…Hmm, you’re obviously quite young. Well, no harm trying. Otherwise you’ll just have to get by with men for the present.”

Demelza nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

Daenerys inclined her head towards the exit. “Come on.”

As they began walking back down the street, Daenerys asked as politely as she could, “Do you really intend to work at a brothel?”

“I’m considering it,” Demelza answered matter-of-factly. “Need to put food on the table and that’s the quickest way.”

Daenerys gave a slight, concerned frown. “There aren’t any other jobs you could do?”

“Tried just about everything. Colborn too. But everyone’s desperate and jobs are in short supply. I applied as a lady’s maid recently, but no one would take me because I’m not trained and it’s too much work breaking in a new maid. And no one would take Grandfather because of his hand.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Daenerys sympathized, even as her brain was already calculating the logistics of what needed to be done.

If she’d foreseen the mess she’d be saddled with, she never would’ve razed the city.

Demelza gave a brooding shrug. “I may have to start in a Flea Bottom bawdy house, but if can work my way up to the Street of Silk, I’ll be set. Hopefully I can eventually save up enough to do whatever else, maybe set up my own shop. I can make clothes as good as anyone.”

Daenerys frowned deeply. “That’s your aspiration? To be a prostitute? Wouldn’t you rather continue your family trade?”

“Yes, but Grandfather would never let me stay to run the forge with Colborn. He’ll find someone to marry me off to eventually – or Colborn will get that responsibility – and then for the rest of my life I’ll be helping my husband with his craft. And since I have no dowry, I’d have to do contractual labor to earn one. So I may as well make quick money for _myself_ instead of working just to be handed off like property.”

“You don’t have to settle for such a life, you know. You can be much more than a mere prostitute,” Daenerys replied deprecatorily.

Demelza scoffed. “What do you suggest then? Me, a penniless orphan girl? We were well-to-do when my parents were alive, but now…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes took on a glassy quality. 

Daenerys flagged down a wagon and paid for a ride back to Fishmonger’s Square.

“Would you choose the forge over the brothel?” Daenerys asked pointedly as they climbed into the wagon. She settled opposite Demelza, crossing her legs underneath her dress.

“Yes,” Demelza replied as though it were obvious. She sat with her legs drawn up, hugging her knees. “I wouldn’t knock the benefits the high-end prostitutes get, but of course.”

“Then make your grandfather take you on as an apprentice. He won’t be able to handle the forge by himself with only one hand, and your brother is still an apprentice. They need all the help they can get. Nag or threaten if you must, but he’ll have to relent eventually,” Daenerys said, her tone coming out harsher than expected. “And since you have no dowry, they can’t marry you off against your will because no one would have you anyways. So use that to your advantage.”

Irritation prickled at her. _This_ was the problem with these smallfolk – the lack of ambition and narrow-mindedness. She might not have had a choice in her own marriage, but even then, she’d never been so complacent with her lot in life as Demelza seemed to be. She’d used her wits to scrabble up to where she was now, and if more girls could only do the same, they wouldn’t find themselves complaining about being handed off like chattel.

From the other side of the wagon, Demelza narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you’re a true khaleesi all right,” she stated over the clopping of hooves, the creaking of the wagon jostling beneath them.

Daenerys raised a challenging eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“ _Meaning_ ,” Demelza collapsed into a cross-legged position, leaning forward on her elbows, “you make it sound like it’s all just that easy without knowing how it really is down here. ‘Hey, the world’s yours for the taking. You want something? Alright, just snatch it!’” She leaned back against the wagon wall and folded her arms, regarding her companion with a cool gaze. “I know you think me just an indolent girl, but money is money all the same, so long as it’s gotten fairly. And I’d think you of all people wouldn’t begrudge someone the finer things, _Khaleesi_.” There was more than a hint of derision in the last word.

Daenerys’ eyes flashed and she sat ramrod straight. “Don’t presume to know me, girl,” she said in a low, cold voice. “You’ve lived comfortably until now, haven’t you? Well, I could tell you stories of my life that would make you _sick_.” Her voice rose, taking on a venomous edge. “I’ve been beaten and molested by my own brother, sold like a broodmare, raped, treated like chattel, seen children crucified, betrayed more times than I care to count. Shall I go on? And you, what have you to complain about until now?”

Daenerys regretted the words as soon as they slipped out. Betrayal flashed through Demelza’s wide chestnut eyes; she looked as though Daenerys had just stabbed her. Then the wounded look was replaced in a flash by the same feral expression Daenerys had seen when Demelza had delivered her tirade against the queen.

Before Daenerys could get a word out, Demelza was across the wagon, inches from her face. Daenerys registered the twinges of pain bursting through her skin where the girl had both her arms in a talon-like grip. Too stunned to move, Daenerys found herself staring into blazing brown eyes.

For a brief moment, Drogon’s fiery gaze flashed through her mind.

“Well, I beg of you the same favor,” Demelza growled. “You don’t know a damn thing about my life, and trust me, I could give you _plenty_ of reasons to judge me, but don’t you _dare_ do so for wanting a comfortable life of my own!”

She pushed herself off the moving wagon and stormed away in the opposite direction, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a basket of produce. She didn’t stop to apologize, even when the woman swore at her.

“Demelza! Demelza, wait!” Daenerys slid from the wagon and ran to catch up with her. She put a hand on her shoulder to halt her. “Demelza, please, I – “

Demelza whirled around. “Leave me alone!” she yelled, violently swatting Daenerys’ hand off. She angrily swiped a sleeve across her face, and Daenerys saw that her eyes were red and moist.

Daenerys held out her hands in a gesture of supplication. “I’m so sorry, that was wrong of me. You’re right, it’s not my place to judge. Because we all have our lot in life, and my troubles don’t make yours any less valid, nor do they give me the right to trivialize your life. _Neither_ of us has that right.”

_And I’m the one to blame for what’s happened to you._

The guilt struck like a blacksmith’s hammer, with such force this time it nearly bowled her over.

Every time she thought she’d come to terms with it…

Demelza sniffled, but she’d visibly relaxed. “Well…I suppose I started it. I shouldn’t have talked down to you like that either. I’m sorry.”

Daenerys nodded and offered a small, understanding smile. “We were both in the wrong.” She proffered her hand. “Are we well then, Demelza?”

Demelza tilted her head, regarding the sky exaggeratedly. “Hmm…I suppose so.” Then her face broke into a genuine, relieved smile and she clasped Dany’s hand.

“To be honest…” she said, almost shyly as they began walking in the direction of Fishmonger’s Square, “I couldn’t stand the thought that you might think ill of me.”

Daenerys shook her head. “I don’t think that,” she answered kindly. “I think you’re smart, fierce. Not one who backs down easily. It just upsets me to think of someone like you wasted on those lechers.”

Demelza gave an incredulous, breathy chuckle. She drew closer to her companion, and Daenerys found that it was the most natural thing in the world to link her arm through Demelza’s. The guilt was still there, but Daenerys willed it to the furthest recesses of her mind. For now, she’d allow herself this reprieve.

They finally arrived at Fishmonger’s Square. Daenerys accompanied Demelza to the edge of the camp, where they stopped to face each other expectantly. “Well, I’ll be off,” Daenerys told her. “I’ve got errands to run. Thank you again for your help.”

Demelza pouted. “Aww, surely you can spare an hour. I want to show you something.”

“What?” Daenerys asked, her curiosity piqued.

She’d fallen for the bait.

Demelza’s expression dissolved into eager mischief. “Patience, Khaleesi.”

She grasped Daenerys’ hand and began dragging her across the Square. 

The queen stumbled, adjusting her pace to keep up with the girl’s sudden speed. “I really can’t – “

“Sorry, I can’t hear you, the wind’s too loud!” Demelza called back without turning around.

In a highly uncharacteristic gesture, Daenerys rolled her eyes. With a sigh of both parts resignation and amusement – though more the latter – Daenerys allowed herself to be led towards the Mud Gate.


	9. Chapter 9

“Been to the docks yet?” Demelza asked as she stepped through the Mud Gate, the silver-haired woman in tow.

Warships and fishing vessels alike dominated the wharf, some anchored, some already at sea. The tangy sea breeze playfully whipped their hair about their faces, bringing the bustle of conversation to their ears as fishermen walked up and down the docks, unloading the day’s catch.

“Yes,” Daenerys answered, almost succeeding in keeping the strain out of her voice.

Her discomfort must have bled through, for Demelza asked, “Are you afraid of the water?”

“Oh, not in the least. I’ve always loved the sea.” Despite the memories, Daenerys found herself relaxing. The charm of the sea, even at the busy docks, made it hard to keep in mind the devastation that had transpired there.

“Good. So I reckon you can swim.”

Daenerys smiled, lifting her chin proudly. “I can do you one better. I’ve taught legions of Dothraki how to sail.”

Demelza blinked, dumbstruck. “Dothraki? _Sailing?_ ” She whistled and dropped a few words more befitting the fishermen than a blacksmith’s young daughter. "Now I’ve seen it all, and I’m quite convinced the world is doomed.” To which the khaleesi let out a hearty laugh.

Daenerys removed her shoes and socks, letting out a sigh of contentment as she stepped onto sun-kissed sand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the beach for pleasure, a young barefooted girl frolicking amidst the waves, content to be ruler of naught but the sandcastles of her own creation.

Demelza bent down to press her palm against the sand, then snatched it back with a small yelp. She straightened, staring at Daenerys as though she’d run mad. “How are you standing in that? It’s scorching!”

“Really?” Daenerys couldn’t feel it, but judging by the midday sun, it must be accurate. “I suppose I just have a high heat tolerance.”

“You’d think I would too, being a blacksmith’s daughter,” Demelza remarked.

She stepped up to Daenerys and took both her hands in her own, turning them palm up. “Well, I’ve no doubt that you can sail, but you definitely aren’t a sailor by trade.” She looked up to meet Daenerys’ curious gaze.

“And how would you know?”

“The lack of callouses.” Demelza held out her own hands, roughened by years of assisting in the forge, for comparison.

Daenerys nodded approvingly. _Observant girl._ “You’re right.”

“I’m going to show you something you’ll love. But first…” Demelza scanned the vast expanse of sand, her mouth stretching into the same sly grin she’d shown minutes ago, “let’s play a quick game.”

“Dear gods, I don’t like that look. Why do I feel like you’re about to lead me into a trap?” Daenerys asked, crossing her arms.

Demelza’s grin widened. “Because I am,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Daenerys quirked an eyebrow. “And you’d admit it so openly?”

“Yes,” Demelza responded, eyes glinting like a cat’s. “But worry not, you’ll be none the worse for it.”

Now Daenerys found that her curiosity was too piqued to resist.

Which must have been the girl’s plan all along.

“Fine. What is this game?”  
Demelza inclined her head towards the water, and Daenerys followed her further down the beach until the sand grew wet from where the tide had reached earlier.

“Write the first sentence that comes to mind,” Demelza instructed.

“I don’t have a stick,” Daenerys responded, wondering where this was going.

“Use your finger. Wet sand makes the perfect slate.”

Daenerys thought for a moment, then bent down, gathering up her skirts to keep the hems from muddying. She much preferred her usual, more practical clothes, but they wouldn’t do for blending in. With her index finger, she traced in the sand: _It’s been years since I’ve gone for a swim_ in Common Tongue.

Then she straightened, brushing off the sticky sand. “Now what?”

“I knew it. You’re a noble.” Demelza declared, planting a triumphant hand on her hip.

Daenerys blinked, realizing her folly a beat too late. Of course. Most smallfolk were uneducated and illiterate, even city dwellers.

“How did you suspect?”

“You speak all proper, for one. And the other day, you implied that your family is well connected.” Demelza swept her with her gaze. “Besides, I figured the Dothraki wouldn’t have taken just anyone as a khaleesi. But I don’t know much about them, so I could be wrong. Anyways, the clincher is that you can write.”

The queen had to admit she was quite impressed. Underneath the fear and volatility, Daenerys sensed a crafty streak in the girl that was not to be underestimated. It was such a shame – were circumstances different, given time, Demelza might’ve been a useful ally.

“You could’ve just asked me instead of going through all that trouble.”

Demelza scoffed. “You’re a mysterious one. Like I trusted you to be honest.”

“You’re clever, Demelza,” Daenerys stated fondly.

Demelza dipped a curtsey. “Thank you.” She looked back across the beach. “You better get your shoes before someone runs off with them.”

“So what house do you belong to?” Demelza asked as they walked down the beach, away from the bustling docks. Daenerys walked beside her, shoes in hand, savoring the feel of smooth sand gliding between her toes.

“An extinct one not worth mentioning,” the queen answered, injecting enough discomfort into her voice so the girl wouldn’t pry. It proved effective.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Daenerys observed that Demelza seemed more at ease here, though she still cast the occasional glance up at the cloudless sky as though on the lookout for signs of an aerial attack. The queen tried not to think of how the soldiers at the docks must have felt that day – how _Demelza_ must’ve felt. The last thing they saw was a winged black beast before their world was consumed in dragonfire.

Before long, Daenerys saw a pile of rocks looming in the distance, jutting into the water.

“By the way,” Demelza inquired as they drew closer. “What did you write?”

Daenerys told her.

“A pity. I come here often.” Demelza nodded towards the rocks, then turned to her companion. “Do you have a special place you go to just to escape, clear your mind for a bit?”

_The skies, on Drogon’s back._

“Not specifically. Wherever there aren’t people and I have an unobstructed view of the sky,” Daenerys answered honestly. Demelza hummed in approval.

Once they reached the rocks, Demelza wasted no time pulling off her shoes and stockings, discarding them in a careless heap and scaling the nearest boulder. Daenerys watched as she climbed and hopped nimbly from rock to rock, unfazed by the sea crashing foamy white against them, sending up a salty spray. A less experienced climber, Daenerys followed more slowly, careful not to scrape her feet against the scraggly, porous rocks. She could see why there were no children at play here – one slip and you’d be scraped bloody.

Daenerys pulled herself up next to Demelza, who’d settled cross-legged on a tall boulder with a flat top, facing the sea. “Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, mirroring Demelza’s posture.

The girl turned to her. “What if I told you they were about you?” she said with the barest hint of coyness.

“Oh?” Despite herself, Daenerys leaned forward curiously.

_What in the seven hells are you doing?_ _Don’t encourage her!_

Yet treacherously, against all sense, she _wanted_ to. Wanted to fold the girl into her arms and – for only a few moments – bask in the embrace of someone who looked into her eyes without seeing a tyrant. Someone who so easily shared with her the simple pleasures of life.

Daenerys was aware that Demelza had scooted closer, just enough for their knees to barely touch.

She needed to tell the truth. Immediately. 

Yet the words rebelled before they even reached her throat. 

“Naturally,” Demelza answered. She reached out, twisting a lock of Daenerys’ hair around her index finger. “It’s not every day I meet a half-fay noblewoman.”

_“And it’s not every day I meet a girl with the free spirit of a dragon,”_ Daenerys remarked in High Valyrian.

Indeed, she had never encountered such a paradoxical nature as she saw within the auburn-haired girl – the volatile duality of a volcano and a bubbling stream, the terrified countenance of a skittish rabbit and the fierceness of a dragon.

“That better not have been an insult or I’ll shove you off this rock,” Demelza retorted.

“No, no,” Daenerys laughed, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. She translated everything but omitted the dragon reference, knowing it had a vile connotation for everyone at King’s Landing.

They sat a while in companionable silence, watching the seagulls gliding through the air, always skimming just above the rolling waves.

“So…” Demelza said after a few minutes, “besides writing, swimming, and sailing, what else can you do?”

Daenerys usually had no fondness for idle chatter, but with Demelza it was agreeable.

“I can weave.”

_And tame dragons, and conquer territories, and amass a loyal following._

Demelza regarded her intently for a moment, tilting her head like a bird. She seemed on the verge of speaking, but evidently decided against it and looked away.

“What?” Daenerys inquired curiously.

“Well…” Demelza said hesitantly, “it’s just that noblewomen are usually skilled in the arts and music. Not that I mean you any slight,” she added quickly. “You just seem…unconventional. But not in a bad way.”

Daenerys smiled reassuringly. “Speak frankly, it’s alright. What happened earlier won’t repeat itself.”

“So you won’t fly at me if I’m too brash?” Demelza said, half-teasingly. 

“It’s I who should fear that from you,” Daenerys remarked wryly. She was certain her arms were already sporting bruises from the girl’s nails.

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t wish to speak about my upbringing, but unconventional is exactly the word for it,” Daenerys explained, stretching her legs out before her and leaning back on her hands, relishing the warm rays and refreshing breeze on her face. “I never had the luxury of learning all those skills deemed necessary for a lady.” She considered her next words, then took an uncharacteristic leap of faith. “I was raised in exile. We never stayed in one place for long.”

Demelza gave a start. “ _Really?_ Why?”

“Without going into detail, my house got itself in some trouble. But that was years ago, before I was even born. I’ve more than made up for lost time.”

“I see,” Demelza said.

Then she relaxed against Daenerys, and the latter felt warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want this thing turning into a total brooding fest, so here's something lighthearted. Things will start accelerating after the next chapter, so stay tuned!
> 
> You know what I really want to know? Your thoughts! Leave a comment. Pleeeeease?
> 
> *cricket cricket*
> 
> Okay then, I see how it is. *sniffle*


	10. Chapter 10

“I can do both,” Demelza said, an unusual sense of peace enveloping her as she rested her head against Dany’s shoulder. “Weaving and embroidery.”

When she wasn’t assisting in the forge, she enjoyed dabbling in clothes-making.

Dany chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around Demelza’s waist. “Braggart.”

A sudden idea took root in Demelza’s mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been eager about _anything_ , but now she was gripped by the urge to make it come to fruition.

She reluctantly sat up and stretched out her legs, one of which had started falling asleep. “Would you like to learn embroidery? Or improve your weaving?”

Dany looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m quite busy…but…I suppose. My friend _has_ been nagging me to take some time for myself.”

“I’ve an idea. I can teach you, and in return you teach me how to read.” Demelza tried to keep an easy tone, but secretly her heart had quickened to a horse’s trot.

Would Dany make fun of her? The last time she’d casually mentioned the topic to Colborn a year ago, he’d laughed her out of the city – which was a statement in and of itself, given that he was the most non-judgmental of the family.

“What for? Books make for idle hands,” he’d said. Everyone else shared the same sentiment.

But to Demelza’s appreciation, there was no trace of ridicule in Dany’s expression. Only slight surprise.

And… _sadness?_

But the flicker of emotion was gone so quickly that Demelza wondered if it’d been merely her tense mind playing tricks on her.

“I’m not a patient teacher,” Dany said. “You’ll tire of my company soon enough.”

“I don’t mind. Neither am I, fair warning, but for you I’ll be on my best behavior.”

The corners of Dany’s lips quirked up. “Alright. You have a deal. Though I must warn you, I won’t be able to commit often.”

Demelza beamed, nodding in satisfaction. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

They shook on it.

Demelza looked down at the sea, then back at Dany. “Care for a swim?”

For a moment, Dany looked as though she’d decline, but then she glanced at the enticing waves and her eyes lit up. “It would be a shame not to. Not here, though, unless you’d like to be dashed against the rocks.”

They climbed down and picked a spot a few yards away. Dany unfastened her dress and let it fall to the ground, stepping out in nothing but a white shift.

“Are you coming?” she asked as she stepped into the water, looking back at Demelza.

“Wha – oh. Yes, of course.” With a mental cringe, Demelza realized she’d gotten distracted with staring and had barely begun to undress.

Dany turned back and waded deeper into the water, but not before Demelza caught the amused smirk that danced across her lips.

She hastened to undress, shaking her head. _I’ve gone as daft as one of those lovestruck girls always buzzing around Colborn._

She bit her lip as she entered the water, goosebumps instantly rising on her arms. As usual, it took a couple of minutes to get accustomed to the cold. Further out, Dany was catching the waves, sometimes ducking under, other times riding over. Her movements were both playful and graceful, reminding Demelza of a dolphin, and for a few moments she was content to merely stand still and watch her. Then she waded out to join her.

When the next wave came, Demelza dove under with abandon. The muffled roaring of the water completely filling her ears, drowning out the echo of screams that were never far from her mind. She resurfaced in front of Dany a few seconds later.

“There you are,” Dany said fondly. “Took you long enough to come up.”

“I’m not keen on the surface world.”

“Me neither.” The woman smiled.

Demelza couldn’t help her eyes from trailing down to where Dany’s long hair met the water, silvery-white against a backdrop of azure blue.

Like liquid starlight, Demelza thought, unconsciously biting her lip.

She drank in the sight of Dany before her: her thin waist, the translucent shift clinging to her body, the neckline just low enough to invite the eyes – and the imagination – lower.

Then her eyes snagged on her arms. Small, purplish-red bruises stood out starkly against milky skin.

She cringed to think of how hard she must’ve gripped Dany earlier. She moved closer, gingerly tracing the bruises. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Nothing I didn’t deserve.” Demelza caught the rueful note in Dany’s voice.

She bent her head down, brushing her lips quickly against the angry marks. Then she repeated the gesture with Dany’s other arm. “There. Good memories to replace the bad ones.”

Dany smiled warmly. “Thank you.” She caressed Demelza’s shoulder with her thumb.

Then her smile turned devious. “You’ve been doing an awful lot of staring. Don’t you know it’s rude?” She flicked her wrist, sending a quick splash of water at Demelza.

Demelza yelped and returned fire, and before she knew it a full-scale battle was raging. At one point, Dany had her arms locked around her as a large wave approached. “Be prepared, I’m about to dunk you.” She heard Dany’s low, roguish voice in her ear as her hands slipped to Demelza’s shoulders, ready to press her down.

“What a gentlewoman. My siblings and I never showed such restraint.”

Dany laughed, and Demelza held her breath as she was plunged under – gently.

Once she resurfaced, she shook out her hair, sending droplets flying every which way. Dany let out a childish squeal and shielded her face. “You’re like a dog!”

“Naw, or I’d be good at catching. Last time Colborn tossed me a mug, I broke a nail.”

Dany threw back her head and laughed, and Demelza drifted closer until they were a hand’s width apart. She wanted to melt into Dany, to drown in those vibrant amethyst eyes. Capture this moment and store it deep into her soul, this feeling of being _alive_ again.

And then her lips were on Dany’s.

Dany leaned in without hesitation, covering Demelza’s lips with her own – tender with an an undercurrent of fierceness that send a shiver of fire through Demelza's veins. Dany tasted like honey and sea salt, and Demelza felt her mind whirl into oblivion as she pulled her closer. 

“Was this your nefarious plan all along?” Dany asked, once they’d parted. Her eyes glimmered with sly mirth.

Under the water, Demelza wrapped her legs around Dany’s waist and threw her arms around her shoulders, delighting in the khaleesi’s small “Oh!” of surprise.

“No, even better.” She grinned, lacing her fingers behind Dany’s neck.

Dany matched her grin, and Demelza leaned down to press another hungry kiss on her mouth.


End file.
